A discussion started about the song led by the bald guy with the wee white beard and the fancy waistcoat. He said it was an old tune from bygone days; somebody else said it was new. They looked to Chess Hopkins for an answer but he didnt give one. Declan was yawning, leaning his elbows on his guitar. He yawned again, then made to rise from his seat.
Chess called to him: You know “Bonaparte’s Retreat”?
Declan was in the act of bringing something out of his side jacket. I got to have a smoke first.
Guitar’s only an add-on anyhow, said Chess.
Oh you think so! said Declan in the stagey growl he used in his performance.
It’s a distraction.
Declan grinned, raising the guitar over his head, seeing a place to lay it. Declan hesitated, seeing Murdo who wasnt too far from him. He gestured with it towards him. Murdo shrugged, took the guitar from him.
Declan had reached into the pack for a cigarette then strolled to the exit. The woman was there who had been in Dad’s company earlier. She and Declan exited together. Murdo sat with the guitar on his lap. He knew the makes of the good ones. This wasnt one of them. Yet it was very very good, just like whatever, it didnt have a name.
People were waiting for Chess. Murdo saw how they paid attention. When he was ready he spoke out the corner of his mouth: Old Napoleon now watch him go, he’s on the retreat again.
Murdo knew the tune but different to this. The funny thing here was the actual feel Chess was getting. Murdo wondered what it was, but then obvious, it was Scottish. Was it Scottish? Murdo hadnt heard it played this way before. But he knew it and knew what to do with it. He was keeping time, tapping his fingers on the body of the guitar and whatever like he was ready to play, and he was ready to play, he was. Chess looked the question at him, how if he did want to play then that would be fine. Murdo slipped the strap over his shoulders. A wee rhythm just, to let the fiddle go. Murdo played that in, keeping it on keeping it on, watching and hearing what Chess did and going with that, a swing forwards now the fiddle was freed up.
Chess didnt look anywhere. Some look at things and some dont; some close their eyes. Chess didnt close his but neither did he look at anything. His playing was different. Maybe an older style. Murdo didnt hear playing like this much. But he liked it; there was a swing and a swagger, just happy who ye were, that was Chess and his baseball cap. He wasnt a busy type of player but he did stuff and ye could see how his head and his upper body, his neck, that control he had. Everything was measured. Ye knew he could burst out. Any time, he could explode right out. He didnt.
Murdo kept it on except a point when he veered off a fraction, brought about by something Chess did that knocked him out, but it was only that fraction and he got through. The guitar was a help, whatever it was. It had a mark like a signature so probably it was hand-made.
The tune ended. Chess nodded to Murdo who grinned. He caught sight of Aunt Maureen, hand to her mouth and gazing at him, sitting with people near the back of the marquee. Uncle John was there but Dad wasnt. Chess chuckled, tucking the fiddle under his arm. He wagged the bow at Murdo. I know what you did!
Yeah I missed that wee bit.
You did too!
I caught it though.
Yeah you caught it, you caught it. Chess wagged the bow at him again, called to the old guy in the fancy waistcoat: Hey now Bill he aint heard of no Bonaparte! Who in heck’s Bonaparte, that’s what the boy wants to know!
Murdo knew fine well who Bonaparte was.
Dad was by the marquee entrance. Murdo hadnt seen him arrive. So during the song. So he must have heard a little of it. He wouldnt have been too surprised. Maybe he would have been. He didnt come much to gigs. Uncle John would have enjoyed hearing Chess. That old style making ye think of ancestral relations from bygone days. Mum too, she would have liked it.
Chess shifted on his chair and called to his wife Clara who was one of those at the back: Hey Clara you going to sing one?
Clara looked like she was surprised by the question. Chess said, What d’you think, you want to do one here? Maureen’s nephew from Scotland?
Chess winked at Murdo. Clara leaned to say a word to Aunt Maureen then rose from her chair. She stepped along the row to the side and walked down and along to sit closer to Chess, within the main body. She smiled at Murdo. You doing okay son?
Yeah.
Thought you might want to sing, Chess asked.
Okay.
“When I Die”? Chess knocked up the side of his baseball cap, scratched at the side of his ear and said to Murdo, “When I Die” son you know it?
Eh…I’m not sure.
Chess nodded. You’ll get it.
Murdo glanced at Clara who smiled.
I dont play on this one, said Chess.
You dont play on it? said Murdo.
Chess said, I sing a little. He glanced sideways, laid the fiddle and bow on the empty chair next to him. You’ll get it, he said then looked at the ground, composing himself.
Also he was waiting for Clara. Her eyes were shut. Then she moved her head side to side and seemed to relax. She began the song and immediately was there in it, her voice so distinctive, so clear, so powerful. The word “steel”. “Steel” for strength, staying strong; strong from the beginning and strong at the end: wherever that was. This voice would not stray, it was there on the path. She had “steel” and she gave this to the song. Chess entered from the beginning, replying “when I die” to each sung statement; Clara repeating the “when I die” to begin her next statement:
when I die I’ll live again
because I believe
and have found salvation
when I die
when I die I’ll live again.
It may have been a hymn. Probably it was. An American one maybe; so ye wouldnt have heard it back home. Chess was looking to Murdo, directing him: come in as soon as ye like. And Murdo found he could, plain and speedy.
Mostly Clara sang with her eyes closed but when she did open them they seemed to fasten on somebody in particular, so the person knew they were being looked at. It reminded Murdo of something, but what? he couldnt think what. Eventually others came in on the line-endings:
when I die I’ll live again
hallelujah
because I’m forgiven
my soul will find heaven
when I die
when I die I’ll live again
hallelujah
When the song ended Clara smiled to Murdo and gave a wave to Aunt Maureen, a relaxed wave. Aunt Maureen looked pleased and happy. Chess said, That was nice son. We do one more huh?
Murdo looked for Declan before replying. He rose from the seat to see better. Uncle John gave him a cheery thumbs-up. Murdo grinned. Declan was standing beside Dad by the entrance. The woman was also there. Murdo called, One more?
Declan saluted. Dad was just watching. Murdo adjusted the guitar. Chess said, We’ll do “The Lost Pilgrim” son.
“The Lone Pilgrim”, said Clara.
“Lone Pilgrim”, yeah… Chess pointed out Murdo to the company. This is Maureen’s nephew from Scotland, Maureen and John there, you all maybe know that?
Murdo, said Clara.
Chess had raised the fiddle, he leaned to speak quietly to Murdo. I’ll give it a good-size of an introduction son; you come in when you are ready. Just you take your time. We take it all the way through and back again. All the way through son. That’s for Clara huh? So it’s right for her. You know what I’m saying, we got all the time here.
Yeah.
Chess sniffed. We need you in there. Two introductions, three, it dont matter. Okay? When you are ready, we’ll hear that nice guitar. You okay now?
Yeah.
Okay. Chess said to Clara: Just wait till the boy comes in Clara. We’ll take it through and just you know… Chess shrugged. Clara nodded.